by Simon Kewin
“Your welcome is most generous, Duke Greygyle,” said Nox. “We are truly grateful to you. Aren't we Cait?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, chewing on something rubbery that she hoped wasn't an animal part. “Truly grateful.”
Nox picked up one of the dishes and passed it to her, the grin still wide on his features. “Buttered mouse livers, beloved daughter?”
The banquet lasted for days. So it seemed. Nox ate enormous amounts, intent on sampling every dish set before him. Cait managed to find a few things that hadn't recently been running or swimming or flapping around. The undain clearly liked to have meat with everything. Even the dessert – fragments of crushed ice in some sort of cream – had little balls of jelly floating around in it. Balls of jelly that might have been the eyeballs of some unfortunate creature.
When they were finished, Nox and the Duke headed off together to sample some of the undain's collection of red wines. Cait caught Nox by the arm and pulled him aside for a moment.
“If we get out of this alive, I'll kill you,” she whispered.
“Cait, Cait,” said Nox. “I told you. We need all the help we can get.”
“Don't be ridiculous. There is no help here. We're in one of the palaces of the enemy. If they knew who we really were…”
“But they don't, do they? Just pretend you are my daughter and do as I say and all will be well.”
“In your dreams, Nox. Or is that why we're really here? So you can play at being a Baron for a while longer?”
Nox glanced at the Duke, waiting for him in the doorway. Nox inclined his head in a gesture of acknowledgement then turned back to Cait. “I'm doing everything I can to help us, stupid girl. It was me that saved you when you blacked out on the road. Without me you'd have been picked clean by carrion crows days ago. You and Ran.”
“Ran's alive?”
“Thanks to me. He was trying to fight that Harvester with a stick. A stick! It was just as well I had my gun.”
“Then where is he now?”
“He couldn't come here, could he? He's obviously from Andar. I needed to bring you here to get help. Ran is out in the wilds somewhere, fending for himself.”
“We need to find him. It's not safe out there.”
“Oh, come off it. He's loving every minute of this. A chance to sacrifice himself at every turn.”
“And what happens when they come for us from the White City? No doubt you'll explain it was you who captured me and turn me over, yes? Is that your plan?”
“I told you, these people live in the middle of nowhere. They have no idea what's going on in the real world.”
“Look,” said Cait. “We have to leave. As soon as we can. Stay if you like but I'm going.”
He studied her for a moment. “Wait until the morning at least. It's dark now.”
“Dark's good. I'm less likely to be seen.”
“Less likely to see what's chasing you, too.”
“I'll manage.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“I'll take my chances. What are you plotting? Why do you really want to keep me here?”
“Because you're ill. You look like death. You need to rest, not storm off into the night.”
She did feel pretty rough, it was true. Her stomach was cramping with the sudden glut of food. Although it might be her period about to start. She'd lost track of what day it was. Another thing she had to worry about. Heroines in books never had to stop to contend with the joys of menstruation while they were saving the world, did they?
“I don't trust you.”
“Yes. You mentioned it. But if I'd wanted to turn you over I could have done so while you were unconscious. Do try to think.”
She restrained herself. “We'll leave first thing tomorrow. And if you're too busy networking with your new zombie friend I'll go without you.”
“He's not a zombie, he's…”
She turned away. “Yeah, yeah. I know exactly what he is.”
She had to stop twice as she climbed the stairs back to her room, the cramps in her stomach sharp. She resisted the urge to bend over to ease the pain pulling at her insides. She wished her mum or her gran were there. When she whimpered from the pain, she was glad she was alone after all.
She reached the landing and slipped gratefully inside her room. She was about to close her door when she saw movement farther down the corridor. Someone emerging from another door. One of the veiled servants? No, Lugg.
The boy glanced around, wary. He didn't see Cait in the shadows of her own doorway. He moved away from the staircase, into a part of the palace she hadn't visited. He crept rather than walked.
She paused, her hand on the door handle. She wanted to curl up on the bed and groan quietly to herself. But the boy intrigued her. What was he up to?
He'd said nothing during the meal, but she'd sensed the burning resentment in him. He'd almost lashed out at his father more than once but he'd managed to keep it in check, grimacing with the effort of holding his tongue. But he was up to something, and she wanted to know what.
Lugg disappeared around the far corner of the corridor. Cait set off after him, pulling her own door quietly shut behind her. Her stomach was still cramping, like a fist grasping her insides and squeezing. She tried to ignore it.
She crept along the corridor, keeping to the walls just as Lugg had done, not really knowing why. No one had said she couldn't go there.
She slipped past the door the boy had emerged from and peered around the corner. Up ahead was another stretch of corridor: more white walls, more doors. Hundreds of candles in holders had been lit along it, giving everything a shifting, illusory quality, like a scene from an old black-and-white film. There was no sign of the boy.
She continued, listening at each door she came to, terrified of someone bursting out and asking her what she was doing. Perhaps she could claim to be lost. Put on an act of being dizzy and confused. Actually, it wouldn't be that much of an act.
She came to a door that was open a crack. A draft of cold air streamed through it onto her face. Had he gone that way? No way of telling. But the corridor was a dead-end.
She listened and, hearing nothing, pulled the door open. A flight of wooden stairs spiralled upward. There were no candles. A thin, iron handrail ran around the outside wall. Cait grabbed hold and climbed.
In only a few steps the light from the corridor faded, and she was left in total darkness. She carried on ascending, feeling for each step with her foot. The air smelled of dust, tickling her nose. She peered upward, but there was no sign of any light. Perhaps he hadn't gone this way.
She was already panting, but still there were more stairs. Endless stairs. If you fell on a spiral staircase would you tumble all the way down or would the turn stop you? She hoped she wouldn't find out.
She was about to give up and retrace her steps when she discerned a faint glow from above. There was a noise, too. A rustling accompanied by a pattering, scratching sound. Something was scrabbling around up there. Several things maybe.
She clutched the seeing stone in her spare hand. It made her feel better. A little better. She thought about her gran. Her gran wouldn't turn around and run. And she, Cait, wasn't going to either.
She climbed a little higher and peered over the top step. A faint light from the full moon filtered in through a series of small, arched openings in the walls. They were large enough, maybe, to put an arm through. It was a circular room, and the openings went all the way around. The air smelled of feathers and straw, overlaid with the faint tang of decay.
She knew where this was. She'd spied this spire from her window, watched as birds flapped in and out through the openings. It was the tallest tower in the palace. The undain appeared to use the birds for communication: instead of carrier pigeons they had carrion crows. Greygyle had called it The Rookery.
The rustling sound came from the centre of the room, where a tower of little boxes stood, each open at the side. Roosts for the birds. Occasionally one
hopped down in a flurry of feathers and skittered around on the wooden floor, searching for a better perch or pecking at food. With a jolt of alarm she saw that one of the flapping birds was little more than a patchwork of bones and flesh, just as the bird by the standing stones had been.
It took her a moment to see that a shadow beside the roosts wasn't a shadow, but a person. A person quietly sitting there, watching her. Two sparks of moonlight pinpricked his eyes.
“You followed me,” said Lugg. His speech was a little slurred. It had to hurt to talk.
“Sorry, yes,” said Cait. “Not in a creepy way, obviously.”
“Obviously.” His voice was heavily accented like the Duke's, but he spoke good English. Someone had schooled him well.
“Mind if I sit down?”
Lugg shrugged. “Can't stop you, can I?” He was little more than an outline as she sat beside him. She could hear his faint breathing. Night air streamed in through the archways, wonderfully cool, bringing with it the faint scent of cut grass and night-blooms.
“What are you doing up here?” she asked.
He didn't reply for a moment. “Nothing. I come up here to think. To look. You can see for miles up here, all the way to the mountains.”
“But it's dark. You can't see anything.”
He shrugged again. “I like it here. No one else ever comes here. Until tonight, anyway.” He glanced aside at her, his features catching the light. Underneath his swollen features he was a good-looking boy. Not in the glossy-magazine way Greygyle was handsome: there was something vulnerable in Lugg's features. Perhaps it was the bruising that marred half his face.
“I'm sorry for what your father did to you,” she said. “Was it because of the Spirit?”
“How do you know about that?”
“I just heard some had got lost.”
“Lost, yeah. You could say that. I was bringing the whole month's supply and the cart crashed.”
She decided not to tell him she'd been there. “Not good. And now you're in big trouble?”
Lugg snorted in amusement. “You have no idea. The entire family apart from him will have to slumber in the catacombs until our next delivery. The others are just as bad. When they wake up they're all going to take it out on me.”
“But he – the Duke – there's enough Spirit for him?”
“Oh, of course. Anything else is unthinkable. The rest of the household can go without, but not him.”
“But the servants?”
“Tiny drops. Enough to keep their limbs moving.”
“But you can't just let him beat you. It's wrong. It's abuse.”
Lugg didn't reply for a moment. His breathing became a note louder in the twilit room.
“I'm not stupid, you know,” he said at last.
“What do you mean?”
“All that talk about looking for a site for a new palace. All this concern for me. It's complete nonsense isn't it? You're not here for that at all.”
Was it that obvious? How much had he guessed? And if he did know the truth, what should she do? Silence him somehow?
“I don't know what you mean,” she said. It didn't sound convincing even to her.
“Oh come on. It's obvious. Your father is a Baron from the other world. He has to be someone the king really trusts. Yet here he is, wandering around in the middle of nowhere, without any plans for places to stay. I don't think so. And then you happen to faint near our palace and have to be brought here.”
“Actually, that is all kind of true.”
“Whatever you say.”
She dreaded to hear his answer, but asked anyway. “OK, what do you think we're doing here?”
“You're obviously spying for the Holy Court.”
“Spying?”
“Obviously. But don't worry, I have no idea where the Smouldering Fire are or who Phoenix is.”
Relief flooded through her. Lugg didn't know who they really were and why they were there. “You think we were sent by Menhroth?”
“There's a war coming. Everyone knows it. The last thing the King needs is a rebel army marching on the White City while his soldiers cross the An. He's afraid of the Smouldering Fire, and he's sent you to find them. You and others, no doubt.”
“I've no idea what the Smouldering Fire even is,” said Cait.
“Of course you haven't.”
“Are you saying it's a rebel army? How big? Enough to defeat Menhroth?” A faint hope awoke within her. Nox had been right, although she wouldn't admit it to him. They did need help. The thought of having allies – a whole army of them – was delicious.
Lugg shook his head. “You're not a very good spy, you know. I think you're supposed to subtly trick me into revealing what I know. Not just ask me.”
“Perhaps it's a clever double-bluff.” She grinned, hoping to show him she was joking. It didn't seem to work.
“Look,” he said. “I really have no idea. I've heard the same rumours you have. The Smouldering Fire has been growing in strength for years. Phoenix is simply awaiting the right moment to attack. Some even say they've got dragonriders among them; that the wild wyrms of the high north have returned to Angere. Who knows? All I know is Phoenix doesn't live anywhere round here.”
“But this army exists?”
“So people say.”
This was getting her nowhere. “I'm not working for the White City, I promise. I'm not spying on you. I'm not going to tell them about you.”
“Whatever you say. Actually I don't care if you do. By the time you're back east I'll be long gone.”
“You're leaving?”
“I'm going to join them. Join the rebels. Try and find them, anyway. There you are, I've told you. Feel free to inform your masters. Frankly I don't care any more.”
“But your father. Your family. They're all undain. You want to fight them?”
“I despise him and all the others.” The boy spoke freely now, in a sudden rush, the pain in his face forgotten. “I was brought up by monsters, Cait. Monsters who survive by sucking the life from others. Do you have any idea what that's like? I would destroy them all if I could. I'd do it right now. You know what I want? I want to live a normal life. I want to fall in love with a girl and watch my children grow up. I want to grow old. And some day I want to die. After a long and happy life, with my family gathered around me. A family who might actually miss me.”
She touched his mind, very lightly. There was an edge to it, a hardness that made her think of his father's steely eyes. The rage within him was clear. He did hate the undain. Hated them with a burning fury. What must it have been like growing up there? Give her Manchester any day.
“Do you know what the worst of it is?” he asked.
“What?”
“It's the way they assume I want the same as them. They talk so happily about the rituals and how wonderful it will be. My own family want to kill me and resurrect me as one of those vile things. And I'm supposed to be delighted at the prospect.”
Silence filled the round room at the top of the tall spire. Even the birds had been quieted by his outburst. She took a decision. Maybe it was the right thing to do and maybe it wasn't. But there was no one else to take it.
“My father isn't really my father.”
“What?”
“The Baron. Nox. He's not my father. Actually, I kind of hate him, too. But the truth is we're here to try and destroy Menhroth. Destroy the undain.”
“How could that possibly be true?”
“We came through a portal from our world. A portal Menhroth doesn't know about. There's a stone circle in a valley.”
“You've been to the stones? The wyrm road?”
“That's where we landed when we jumped through.”
“Why would I believe you?”
“I can prove it.” She pulled her mobile from her pocket. It was still switched off to preserve the battery, but she carried it out of habit. “This is called a mobile phone, Lugg.”
He leaned over to look at i
t. “Pretty lame. You should upgrade.”
“You know what mobiles are?”
“Obviously. What do you think we are? I have whole lessons in your culture. Pretty boring a lot of it is, too.”
“OK, fair point. But I have pictures on here that will prove what I'm saying.”
“Pictures of what?”
“It's a long story. But you know about the book, right? The Grimoire?”
“Obviously.”
She held up the picture for him to see. Danny's hands were visible as he held the book up in front of his face. She'd taken it that day in his room, just before they'd tried to burn the book. “See? Here it is. It was hidden in our world. There are others who are taking it to Andar right now. To fight Menhroth.”
Lugg didn't speak for a moment. “It's just a book. The cover of a book. It could be anything.” He didn't sound completely sure. He wanted to believe her. He took the phone to study the picture more closely.
“It's the Grimoire, I swear. I mean, look at it, all the skulls and skeletons. We're here to get the other half. To take it to Andar to reunite it and…” she'd spoken before she'd thought what she was saying. The look of astonishment on the boy's face was clear in the glow from the mobile.
“I shouldn't have said that,” said Cait. “Seriously, forget I mentioned it.”
But that wasn't what had stopped him. He turned the phone round to show her. He'd been flicking through her pictures. He'd stopped on one she'd taken in the Forest of Dean as they hacked through the undergrowth. A lake sparkled in the distance between slopes of trees. At first glance they looked like any family out for a pleasant walk.
“This,” said Lugg. “This man standing beside you. He's a dragonrider.”
“Ran, yes. He came from Andar and then to Angere.”
“He's here?”
“Sure. Somewhere outside. I don't exactly know where. He's sort of protecting me.”